


Your name is Damara

by MafagafoGirl



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Bad Parenting, Child Abuse, Gen, Scratch is NOT a good parent, hussie snowman and slick also show up but they dont do shit, i shall not reproduce it but belive me it was bad, im so very sorry it is super bad, like pure angst, sorry - Freeform, suicide threat, this came to me while looking at a very cursed image
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 14:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MafagafoGirl/pseuds/MafagafoGirl
Summary: ...And you're given a name, you strife, and you are freed.Somewhat.And then it all ends.





	Your name is Damara

**== > ENTER NAME**

Your name is Damara. You are a little bit less than two and a half sweeps old, and you’re trying to prank your Uncle Scratch with a marker.

 

You don’t know what uncles are, but that’s what Doctor Scratch told you to refer to him as, so you suppose it’s a title for an older male whom you hold in high value. He knows pretty much everything and sometimes you like to test the extent of that knowledge for fun. He did tell you it was limited, anyway.

You tiptoe behind him, holding the marker up so you can smudge a smile, or a scribble, or perhaps something mildly indecent on the back of his head. Whenever he’s just sitting at his desk, completely still, you never know if he’s sleeping, if he’s contemplating the void, or if he’s staring right back at you, since his cueball-head doesn’t have that many tells. You giggle to yourself, even though you were supposed to be absolutely quiet; maybe this time you got him for good.

 

Right before the marker touches the surface, though, it flashes green, being replaced by a string, that flops down around your fist anti-climatically. He knows.

“What do you think you’re doing, Damara?” Your Uncle’s voice is cold, but polite, and he tilts his head at you. Even if he’s somehow inviting you to speak, words fail you; your guardian is more intimidating than he looks, at least for a tiny little 2.5-sweep old.

“Uh…”

“Spare your words, child. I know what you were doing. Quite a valiant act, I would say.”

 

Uncle Scratch lets the room soak up his words, and then stands up, turning his body around to face you, hands behind his back like a proper gentleman.

 

“Damara, I would like to have a word with you. Please follow me.”

 

You never like it when he wanted to have words with you. They were often quite boring. Sometimes scary. Often it would end with him dismissing you forcibly to your nursery. He leaded you through a series of well known corridors as he spoke.

 

“You’ve been given to my care for a purpose, Damara. Eventually, once you are grown and well groomed, you shall be The Handmaid, and you will take part in serving my master, though in a very different way than I do. While I do enjoy your little childish play and your company amuses me, I must say that time is of the essence, and you shall need to start your training as quickly as possible.”

“What if I don’t want to?” You ran your fingers on the wall, and just then, Uncle Scratch stopped on his tracks, turning around to face you. Not that he needed to, but he liked to give you the illusion to be spoken to face-to-face; he lowered himself to meet your tiny stature.

 

“You don’t have a choice.”

 

“But what if I don’t want to?”

 

“Damara, it is your destiny, just as well as mine is to be an excellent host,” every time he spoke about his hosting skills, he perked up and adjusted his bowtie, as if bragging. You think it looks silly and egocentric. “And inevitably welcome our master here with my timely death. You serve a different purpose, you shall do his bidding elsewhere, as a Witch. This is what you are fated to be, and this is what you’ll be trained for. No matter what you wish. My near-omniscience assures me of that. We shall start your grooming tomorrow morning, so I will let you say your farewells to your nursery for tonight.”

 

He lifted his hand, green and white lightning already surrounding himself to send you to your nursery with a snap of his fingers. Your lip quivers and you finally find the words to speak up for yourself.

 

“That’s not fair! I don’t wanna do it! Why are you so mean to me?”

 

“Why, Miss Megido?” Doc Scratch’s cueball head was inches from your face, his voice echoing through your head in ways that felt like they rumbled your brain’s core infrastructure, broke columns and damaged walls. It wasn’t any less cold, or any less polite.

 

“You are _not_ my guest.”

 

**== > STRIFE**

Your name is Damara, you are a little bit more than four and a half sweeps old, and you’re strifing with your guardian.

 

Doc Scratch wants you to realize your potential as a Witch of Time. All your toys, books and pastimes were stripped away from your room to focus yourself on bettering your skills, on the morning after that fatidic talk; not that you don’t find ways to have fun instead of train, however. Your favorite hobby at the moment is to be a little prick and refuse to do what the Doc tells you to.

 

Right now you are particularly busy on a pickle, however, because he seems to have grown quite displeased by your constant misbehavior. What can you do, he raised you like that. His voice drills into your head and deafens your senses every time he speaks. You’re significantly taller than him now, but he still manages to somehow make himself sound like he was ten times bigger.

“I’m losing my patience, Miss Megido. Return to your bedroom at once. Your Fenestrated Wall watching privileges will be forfeit.”

 

You pull your ears down as hard as you can, but you can’t muffle his voice; it’s not in the air. In a final attempt to stand your ground, you shout as loud as you can, trying to match the volume of the needles in your head. He flashes his broom into his hands.

“NO! I’m tired of this! I’m not gonna be your master’s servant! I don’t want to be! I’d rather die!”

 

Doc Scratch looks at you. His white suit jacket has been taken off a handful of minutes ago, and, if it wasn’t for the light reflecting on the slightly textured surface of his head, you wouldn’t even notice he was turning his head around to redirect it at you.

“That is not up to you, Miss Megido. Y--” He was about to jump into one of his endless lectures, but you abscond, running away from him, fastening your grasp onto your metal wands.

 

Your metal wands.

 

You look up, blinking the rusty tears away from your eyesight, trying to locate the nearest electric socket. You approach it. He glimpses green before you.

“I’m gonna kill myself!” You scream at him, holding your weapons close to the socket, “good luck trying to fulfill my destiny if I’m dead, I--”

 

_Smack._

 

Scratch is stronger than he looks. The broom knocks you away from the wall, causing your wands to fly away and your tears to flow unceremoniously.

 

“I know you wouldn’t do that. I know everything about you.”

_Smack._

“I know everything you want. I know everything you did and will do.”

_Smack._

“Near-omniscience truly _is_ a blessing. I know you wouldn’t do that because you are terrified of death. As any mortal would be, naturally. All your little fears and desires taste like fine delicacies to me.”

_Smack._

 

“The most savory thing I know about you, Handmaid? Is that you can never escape.”

Not a smack, but a _snap_. He sent you to your room. At least you’re now on your bed, so you can contemplate your sobbing and your bruises somewhat comfortably.

 

**== > DESCEND**

Your name is Damara. You are six sweeps old. And you’re finally free.

 

The Orange Man has broken through your Fenestrated Wall, and hunted the despicable Puppet around like cat and mouse, and, when he finally caught it, flopping it around like the rotten shell that it is, you actually felt a pang of adrenaline rush through your veins. He told you to run, to be free, and you did so, going down green corridor upon green corridor, only stopping to admire the Host’s lifeless body up on the roof from a giant hole in one of the walls. Up ahead were those two carapacians who sometimes would show up and almost fuck on Scratch’s office. They don’t seem to be doing anything important.

 

Or was that just once? Your grasp on time becomes more powerful as you grow up and develop. Some events across multiple timelines are starting to get stitched together in your mind, and you sometimes confuse them all. The jumbled threads are bound to be tied and tangled like a Gordian knot, but you figure that you could probably use your powers to unjumble them, rearrange them, knit them into whatever you need them to form.

 

You’re finally in the living room. Freedom is just down the entrance steps. The sky throws up a storm around the apartment, you can feel it in the compromised structure, the holes and cracks on the walls. No more you will have to endure the Puppet’s endless lectures, its self-centered demeanor, the need to constantly remind you how good of a Host it was. You reach the top of the stairs, and…

 

_Scritch. Tock._

_Scritch. Tock._

_Scritch. Tock._

 

Claws scratch against the ivory floor, a pegleg marking tempo like it was counting down the seconds to your demise, as their owner walks up the same stairs you were about to run down.

 

You look up at your new master.

 

**WHAT? YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD ESCAPE HIM, HANDMAID?**

**HOW COULD YOU ESCAPE HIM. WHEN HE WAS ALREADY HERE?**

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't have a beta reader for this, if you find any typo or grammatical mistake, please let me know.  
> I hope you enjoyed it! I love comments and feedback, your opinion on this makes me very happy <3
> 
> My tumblr is artiesbutt. Fell free to shout at me anytime.


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